O N E — Air: 37 degrees. Water: 25 degrees.
Shadowing the shade under this ash tree, Spitz on one side of the lounge chair, diaper bag on the other. Plenty on the to-do list: the work has followed us… but after yesterday’s 10-hour journey with 2 littles to get here… today is a beach day.
T W O — The day melts fast as a fudgsicle. The little guy, hypnotized by white noise, snoozes in his car seat under a tree. The beach is quiet, perhaps owing to remnant COVID fears, and in anticipation of the August crowd. There’s no jostling for shade, or uncomfortably loud strangers—only childhood neighbours, old friends now fellow parents, and a new swarm of littles waving their buoyant wings in the shallows.
T H R E E — Hit the swings before the sun scalds them. Then we’re out on the lake, sweeping across azure glass. The water is the clearest I’ve ever swam in. It’s a delight to ingratiate B to the water: my floating nonchalance, Daddy’s confident dive, Papa’s kersplash and laughter over a soggy wallet. The life jacket’s buoyancy is different than her water wings: she’s not impressed. But she’s stubborn, and brave, and if I can persuade with just the right notes… she jumps in for me, twice.
Work, more work. Sudden surprises and prolonged projects. It is a determination of effort to detach—relax, set aside the screens and sit in a wet bathing suit and feel it shield you from the 37 degree air.
To be here. In body, in mind, in spirit. To watch the children’s fierce struggle over who gets to hold the mini lemonade pitcher. To see the lithe youth and remember my own summers at that age… to realize I’ve lived twice their lifetimes. To marvel how the weft of life weaves always back to this warp of time, in this chair, on this beach, at this lake.
F O U R — the little guy woke at 5am, transmitting symphonies from both ends. I gave up my shushing, warmed up yesterday’s coffee, slung him in the carrier and swayed down the street, with E.M Forster’s “A Room With A View” in one hand. Orange dawn, hazed by forest fires, a warm and sweet 21 degrees.
But the caffeine didn’t last long. The rest went rock hunting in Kettle River; Dane and I had a two-hour nap. A big lunch, then after B’s nap we returned to our signature spots on the beach. After a dunk up to his armpits, Dane fell asleep in his car seat. New friends for B, new swimming milestones.
Kyle gave me some tips to improve my whip kick. It takes an extraordinary effort to relearn a swim stroke while also trying to remain afloat. The water is fresh… but as soon as you get out, you’re almost dry. Back in again.
Babies are grandma magnets. Oohing, aahing, reminiscing about parental woes 40 years past. Dane soaks in the attention, and soaks them all with his steady drool.
We eat dinners later, now. Makes for more water time. Dessert is Saskatoons gathered alongside the road: the bucket we bring returns with only half a dozen rattling around the bottom.
Today’s theme was definitely naps. And so it should be.
F I V E — Oh, Danish. He’s entering Leap 4, if you’re familiar with @thewonderweeks. Won’t sleep without much convincing, or without me as a pillow. Bet-Lou, his Nana’s cousin-in-law (there’s a lot of fam up here), invested 45 minutes of bouncing him on the beach and was rewarded as Dane finally passed out in her arms.
Bitter smoke, like the smell of resentment, rolled in thick overnight and tints the light a warning amber. We still enjoyed more rock hunting in the creek, Dane snoozing in the carrier on my back. Speckled cubes, sparkling eggs, one russet flagstone that the men refused to heft home; the treasure we left behind.
By the time we got down to the beach today, the wind and waves had made the dock restive, a swim choppy, the shoreline littered with flotsam. Still, B’s new friend—a third cousin, to boot!—fanned out her butterfly towel and Bianca flopped down eagerly beside her, grinning from ear to ear, talking her ear off.
Oh, to be small and idolize the tall, the strong, the wise: “Mom, she can READ!!”
The cabin has wifi now, and it makes vacations seem less remote; friends are a FaceTime away—unfortunately, work finds us all too easily here, too. But there is still space for B to learn how to brush her hair… and mine, too (much to my discomfort), and many a conversation about the mundane (“What that ant say to me?”) and the profound (“Why dinosaurs died, Mumma?”), the comical (“Why Papa not jealous of my nail polish?”) and the tragic (“Why people do bad things?”).
That’s one of the things I like about vacation: there is less to worry about, less to distract. There is more space to see, to feel. To engage fully in every fleeting thought of an inquisitive 3-year old. To indulge in the time-consuming luxury of letting a 4-month-old fuss butt fall asleep in your arms.
S I X — the days blend comfortably, still hazy and underslept, with morning adventure, noon naps, and aquatic afternoons. We eat “special treats”; @smartsweets , @missvickiesus , pork rinds, @old_dutch_canada popcorn twists, and watermelon. What are your summer snacks?
S E V E N — birthdays away from home always feel a little different, but my circle still made sure I had all my favourites: thoughtful notes, good books, lobster bisque, a farmer’s market, thrifted treasures, and special family time.
(Shown: practically new melamine bowls for our patio picnics, and hand embroidered linen handkerchiefs. How can anyone bear to soil something so beautiful? I may repurpose them as patches. Not shown: a ‘50s hits piano songbook for forty cents, a rotary cutter, and various crafty knickknacks)
Bianca made me a card with the neighbour’s supplies, glitter glue and pompoms. She was so pleased that she’d put my favourite colours on it. What a lovely surprise to receive a wrapped book on the porch this afternoon, and homemade raspberry cheesecake for dessert, and love sent from as far as Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, and England. Thank you.